


Six Degrees

by flyakate



Category: Ocean's Eleven (2001), Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Experimental, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyakate/pseuds/flyakate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are made up of more similarities than differences.</p><p>Note: Each section deals with one character, but can refer/connect to another one. I promise that makes sense when you read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Degrees

i. John (Dean)  
 **John hates peanut M &Ms.**

John’s sitting with his back against tree branches, mind more on the book in his lap than balancing in the tree. He has a handful of M&Ms, absentmindedly sliding them into his mouth whenever the plot’s action slows. He still has about half a bag left, which is great news, means he can stay out here for hours, hopefully until dinner. Or maybe until Hell freezes over.

There’s a slight change in the light across the pages. John pauses in his reading ( _The Three Musketeers _, Mrs. Clark at the library still doesn’t think he’s ready for _War and Peace_ ) and gazes down from the branches, wow he sure got high up in this tree. Because he’s thinking about it again, he slips another M&M into his mouth.__

__“John.” His father looks big, even from this height. The sun’s behind him, not that John has ever been able to really see the expression on his father’s face. “That was the hospital. Your mother. We have to go.”_ _

__Without more words, he turns, walks away, his shadow stretching dutifully behind him. John dangles his legs from the tree branch, frozen in the motion of jumping down, feeling the oversweet tang of sugar and peanut butter mix in his mouth, forever after tasting of loss and angry tears his father will never see him shed._ _

__“John!” he shouts from the house, and John’s feet slam to Earth._ _

__

__ii. Sam (John)  
 **Sam is a huge Johnny Cash fan.**_ _

__“I heard a train a comin’…”_ _

__Deans’ driving, Sam pretending to still be asleep, as Johnny Cash comes on the radio._ _

__He never really told Dean, not that his brother would laugh, but the reason behind it is… personal. The songs all tell good stories, smoky threads of blues and soul ( _I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run_ ), but mostly Sam loves it because his father did; filled the Impala with “Folsom Prison Blues” and the rest enough for it to run on repeat in Sam’s dreams._ _

__So the sound of it, Cash’s words in his father’s voice, a warm murmur while Sam slept and read and grew and finally ran away, only to come stumbling back._ _

__Remembering Dad hurts, most days. ( _I'll know you and you'll know me_ ) The music makes it a little better._ _

__( _out there beyond the stars._ )_ _

__

__iii. Danny (Sam)  
 **Danny had once thought of being a lawyer, just another kind of long con.**_ _

__It was all wrapped up in words, words and the way that they meant one thing but twist them hard enough and they could mean another. Danny could do it, he knows, argue until red was black and three eyewitnesses were merely a trio of confused and lying strangers out for a poor man’s blood._ _

__He’d read tons of books, making the librarian smile with the stacks of old case ledgers and obscure codes he sometimes had to order special from Washington._ _

__His favorite thing to do was watch the news and try to figure out who did it, switching between prosecution and defense, creating arguments to practice in his backyard the same way he practiced that slow, charming smile in the mirror._ _

__Think of all that power, figuring out which side wins. Awesome._ _

__But the summer he’s sixteen he learns how to use that smile for something a little less legal. As he walks away from his first real job, money in his pocket, he knows that any loophole in a book of statutes will never have the same kind of adrenaline rush._ _

__His guidance counselor will be so disappointed._ _

__iv. Rodney (Danny)  
 **Rodney could list you whole pages of poker odds, but can’t play worth a damn—he’s a terrible liar.**_ _

__“Rodney.”_ _

__“I’d say…”_ _

__“ _Rodney_.”_ _

__They were all sitting around the conference table—Ronon, Teyla, John, Zelenka, Rodney—with stacks of pretzel sticks brought on the Daedulus two days before. The game was poker, because Ronon had made the mistake of mentioning he’d never heard of it, and Teyla wanted another Tau’ri game to tell her people about. John had suggested the conference room, mostly to see Elizabeth’s face if she happened to walk in._ _

__“Rodney, you’re a scientist, for goodness sake,” snapped Zelenka. “Surely you have weighed the odds of the best bet to make, so make it!”_ _

__Rodney sighed, laid down a small pretzel mound._ _

__“Raise.”_ _

__Zelenka chuckled._ _

__“McKay,” said Ronon, “I’ve never played this game before in my life, but I can tell you have nothing. You should bend.”_ _

__“Kneel,” offered Teyla._ _

__“Fold,” groaned John._ _

__“Whatever. Face it, man, you’re not very good at this.”_ _

__John started to laugh, laid his face on the table, and didn’t even stop when Rodney threw his hand (and the rest of the pretzel sticks) at him._ _

__

__v. Rusty (Rodney)  
 **Rusty has always been great with plans, the kind of kid where teachers stressed his “potential” even as he was sent to the principal’s office.**_ _

__Rusty’s mom had dragged him to the parent-teacher conference but then sent him out into the hallway, which made no sense. Rusty felt entirely vindicated, therefore, in sitting with his ear to the door crack to hear what was so important._ _

__“It shows a great sense of planning, Mrs. Ryan, but that is a skill that seems to be lacking in Rusty’s homework. If he could just apply himself more in more… constructive ways.”_ _

__Rusty could hear his mom reply but stopped listening. He leaned back in his chair, pulled the pack of cards out of his pocket and, as he started to deal a hand of solitaire, thought against blissfully of the horrified look on his teacher’s face when he’d rigged the classroom door to lock… and the cage to the frogs for science class to spring open, simultaneously._ _

__

__vi. Dean (Rusty)  
 **Dean only sells a scam when he really believes in it; he knows he can be charming, but it works best when he's doing it for someone else, when he's trying to protect his family.**_ _

__He’s not Dean anymore, he has to remember that. He’s Angus Young. Or maybe Geddy Lee, but he’s leaning towards Young, because how kickass was AC/DC? He digs the credit card out of his pocket, gets his game face on, face the hotel desk._ _

__“One room, two beds,” he shoots out, before the guy behind the counter can either offer a shitty twin or get some weird look in his eye because he sees Sam slouched in the passenger seat outside. It gets tiring._ _

__Almost as tiring as answering to Mr. Lee. Shit, Young, whatever. Dean drums his fingers on the counter, can’t help it ( _Back in black, I hit the sack,  
I've been too long, I'm glad to be back_ ) and can’t really think of the last time he got to be just plain Dean Winchester. Since he was in school, probably, if Dad had okayed the fact that they were still Winchesters in this town, this state._ _

__“Mr. Young? Just sign here.”_ _

__Dean scribbles something with a Y in it on the receipt, always the same crappy leaky pens at every motel, it’s insane. He takes the keys and tries not to throw the pen back in the guy’s face. Because Mr. Young wouldn’t do that. Probably._ _

__Also, because Sam’s in the car, waiting for him, counting on him. Not that hotel credit card scams are the most dangerous thing ever._ _

__But Sam still gets to stay Samuel Winchester. That’s what’s important._ _

__He flings the plastic key at his brother, grinning when it whaps him in the forehead._ _

__“Come on, Sasquatch, or I’m leaving you in the car.”_ _


End file.
